Friday, December 6, 2013

A Thought on the Parsha

Feel free to download and print
the Parasha sheet and share it with your friends and family: Click here: Parashat Vayigash

The Sound of Silence

Silence
is the last word one would think to use to characterize the climax of the story
of Yosef and his brothers. Indeed, our parasha opens with Yehudah's heartfelt
and impassioned plea to Yosef to free Binyamin, and the words so powerfully
convey Yehudah's unflinching loyalty to Binyamin and the anguish of his father,
Yaakov, that Yosef can no longer contain himself. His emotions burst forth, and
he reveals himself to his brothers. And if Yehudah's words can stir powerful,
positive emotions, Yosef's words have the power to calm turbulent, potentially
destructive ones: "Now, do not be anguished, and do not reproach
yourselves that you have sold me here, for it is to be a source of life that
God has sent me ahead of you." (Breishit 45:4).

Even
as the story reaches its dénouement, there is much talking. Talking about how
to report back to Yaakov about what has happened, talking about how the land of
Egypt is open to Yaakov and his family and how they should arrange their
emigration from Canaan, talking to Yaakov about what has happened, Yaakov's
exclamation of wonderment at the news, God's talking to Yaakov before he leaves
Canaan, Yosef's talking to his brothers to prepare them for their meeting with
Pharaoh, Pharaoh's talking to the brothers, Pharaoh's talking to Yaakov, and
finally Yaakov's blessing of Pharaoh. So there is indeed much, much talking in
this parasha. But in the midst of all this talking, and the beehive of activity
that surrounds it, there is a profound, poignant moment of silence:

And Yisrael said to Yosef, "I can
now die, after that I have seen your face, that you are still alive."

And Yosef
said to his brothers and to his father's household, "I will go up and
report to Pharaoh, and I will tell him, "My brothers and my father's household
from the Land of Canaan have come to me."

(46:30-31)

What
just happened here? Yaakov and Yosef meet after a 22 year separation, Yaakov
having believed Yosef to be dead, but perhaps not so sure, perhaps suspecting
that the brothers had something to do with the whole thing. And Yosef wondering
- who knows what? Perhaps thinking that his father didn't care that he was
gone, perhaps even suspecting that his father was unconcerned the danger that
befell him, or even more so believing that his father had conspired by sending
him to his brothers when they were shepherding while knowing how much they
hated him. Or even if these troubling thoughts were kept at bay, Yosef
certainly after hearing Yehudah's passionate speech knew how bereaved his
father now felt and how his absence had taken such a serious toll on Yaakov.

And
now, after these long 22 years, they finally reconcile, and Yaakov lets forth
an exclamation of joy, tinged with his past suffering, but of joy nevertheless.
And then what? Silence. Yosef does not respond. He says not one word to his
father. Or rather, not silence, but a lot of irrelevant talking. Talking to the
wrong people - his brothers and his father's household, but not to his father -
and talking about the wrong things - "Oh, let's go tell Pharaoh that you
are here." The abrupt transition in these two verses is the conversational
equivalent of "Great to see you Dad. Oh, look at the time. Gotta go."
A lot of talking, a lot of busy-ness, but a profound silence. No one is talking
about what needs to be talked about. Not just, "I missed you so much. I
can't believe we are together again." But also, "What really happened
that day, 22 years ago?" "Why did you send me to check on my
brothers, knowing how much they hated me?" No, we'll talk about that
later. There is too much to do now. Too much other talking that needs to take
place.

People
talking without speaking...

And no
one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

"Fools," said I, "You
do not know
Silence like a cancer grows..."

("Sound
of Silence," Simon and Garfunkel)

The
impassioned, heart-wrenching communication at the beginning of parasha, is replaced by a lot of pragmatic, businesslike
talking at the end of the parasha. The words that are unspoken continue to
hover in the background. The silence grows like a cancer, eating away at Yosef
and at Yaakov from the inside, continuing to fester, preventing them from
bringing these difficult issues to the surface, so that they can be dealt with,
and resolved.

And
the silence also grows like a wall to divide Yaakov and Yosef. It prevents them
from ever truly connecting again on a deep, personal level. Yosef is too busy
to talk to his father when he arrives, and remains too busy to talk to his
father throughout the rest of his life. So much so, that when Yaakov finally
speaks to Yosef again, it is at the end of Yaakov's life, on his deathbed, and
it is for the very practical purpose of arranging for his own burial. During
the exchange, we find out that they have communicated so little that Yaakov
does not even know his own grandchildren. He knows about them - the facts he
has - but he does not recognize them. "And Yisrael saw the sons of Yosef,
and he said, 'Who are these?' And Yosef said to his father, 'They are my
sons...'" (48:8-9). Because Yaakov and Yosef are not able to talk about
what needs to be talked about, they wind up talking about very little. Or, at
least, very little that really matters.

There
is, finally, one moment when the silence is broken. But then it is too late.
For when Yaakov dies, Yosef's brothers grow very concerned about how Yosef will
now treat them. "And the brothers of Yosef saw that their father had died,
and they said, 'Perhaps Yosef will now nurse his hatred against us, and return
to us all the evil that we have done to him." (50:15). So what did they
do? They invented a conversation that never happened:

And they
commanded that Yosef be told, "Your father commanded, before his death,
saying: 'So shall you say to Yosef: Please forgive the iniquity of your
brothers, and their trespass, for they have committed evil against you.' So
now, please forgive to sin of the servants of your father's God." And
Yosef wept when they spoke to him.

(50:16-17)

Why
did Yosef weep? Perhaps because they thought ill of him, or suspected that he
could still be harboring resentment and ill will about what had happened oh so
many years ago. Or perhaps he wept because he saw that his brothers were so
anguished and fearful. But I believe he wept for a different reason. I believe
he wept because he realized that his father never said - never could have said
- such a thing. His father had never, and would never, break the implicit pact
of silence around these matters. He wept because what was said after his
father's death - what had needed to be said for so long, was never said in his
father's life.

He
wept for Yaakov, for Yaakov died having never had a chance to talk about what
was eating away at him - his suspicions about Yosef's brothers and what they
might have done - and he went to his grave with this cancer inside him. And he
wept for himself, for never having been able to bring himself to talk about his
own suspicions, his own doubts to his father. For never having been able to
bring up all the messiness, so that it could be expelled, and so that a true
relationship could be reestablished.

And
he wept for his brothers. For his brothers who could not talk to him about
these things before. For his brothers who even now could not talk to him about
it directly - having to send someone to present their case in their stead. For
his brothers who even now could not talk about these things in their own voice,
but who had to attribute them to their father, Yaakov.

And
perhaps he wept for his own silencing of his brothers. For the fact that he was
so quick to forgive them when he first revealed himself to them, that he did
not give them a chance to talk about their guilt, about their remorse. Here was
a time when he needed to be silent, so that others could be heard. To be
forgiven before asking for forgiveness is a blessing, but it is also a curse. It
silences voices that need to be heard. It prevents true healing from taking
place.

We
know well the power of speech. We know how words can kill and how words can
heal. We also must know the power of silence. Silence can kill - kill a
relationship, kill a friendship, kill a marriage. But silence can also heal.
Silence that is there not to cover up, to avoid, to distract, but a silence
that is there to make space, to listen, to open up, to allow another in, to
allow another to speak, that is a silence that can give life, that is a silence
that is a blessing to the soul. "There is a time to be silent, and a time
to talk." (Kohelet 3:7). Let us always know which is which, so that both
our talking and our silence bring with them life and healing to ourselves and
to others.